In these days of Viagra, and for those of you who lived through the changes in the sixties that brought with it the notion of free love, the research done by the professors of The Institute of Human Social Behaviour at Spalding in the late 1930s must look pretty tame. We did not discover a wonder drug that cured impotency, or proposed theories that encouraged vast changes in the social structure of the western world. Instead we, or more correctly I discovered something much more dangerous. A secret that caused the eventual demise of the institute and the suppression of our discoveries under the official secrets act, for fear that they may be detrimental to national security. Though it was plain to me that the agents working towards our demise were more related to Oswald Mosley and his black shirted fascists rather than the government that later brought us through a war.
It all started on a journey to South America, an expedition to the Amazon jungle to observe the courtship rights of a tribe of indigenous people of the Amazon basin area. In those far off days, before the introduction of the helicopter, journeys in such areas were undertaken by flying boat and seaplane. That particular stretch of the Amazon was sluggish enough to make an ideal landing strip. I remember sitting belted in to my seat, in the sweltering heat watching the surface of the river speeding by below, and then turning my attention back to my fellow explorer sitting next to me. Bolt upright in her seat next to me sat Anne Grey, a beautiful, highly skilled Linguistics expert. Her dark hair was pulled back from her slender face, allowing me to watch the beads of sweat trickle down her cheeks, below the collar of her safari shirt and on to the soft dark skin beneath. She undid one more button, permitting me an even more detailed view of the top of her breasts and under-slip from where I sat. She had been aware of my eyes on her since we left England and several times during the journey she had looked at me and smiled causing me to avert my gaze in embarrassment. You must remember back then, even in the academic world, overt sexual behaviour was frowned upon and a tortuous courtship had to be undertaken to achieve any kind of sexual gratification, probably only through marriage. Somehow I new Anne was different, perhaps it was the genes she inherited from her French, gypsy, mother, or perhaps it was simply her belief that society must change.
Immersed in the droning rhythm of the engines above our heads I tried to imagine what it would be like to lick the salt from her naked body, supping the beads of saline from the tips of what I could only imagine were generous nipples crowning her small, shapely breasts. I could see myself in my minds eye running my tongue down her naked belly, over its gentle walnut swell and into the forbidden quarter below. I could almost taste her in my dry mouth as I allowed my imaginary tongue to luxuriate amongst the delicate flower nestled between her firm thighs. I looked further down, at her knees peaking from beneath her shorts, admiring her slender, well shaped, shins and small feet buried in her heavy jungle boots. I suddenly became aware that I was hard, my length firming up and pressing against the seams of my own shorts, making clear its much more than generous size. “I see you have something to be proud of professor,” said Anne. I swallowed hard and flushed with embarrassment, desperately trying to look composed. “I was referring to your pocket knife” she laughed allowing her hand to brush across my lap and tap the leather sheath on my belt which contained a Swiss folding knife. Then she returned her attention to my shorts, stroking my cock through the canvas. I watched as her long fingers fumbled with the hem of one of the legs and disappeared up inside it. Her digits wormed their way beneath my underpants and took hold of the engorged tip of my stiffness. She squeezed hard, tugging the end free so I could see her hand on my penis. “I’ve never held a hard cock before,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.” “God no!” I replied, looking along the fuselage. Above the other empty seats I could the back of the pilots head five rows away. “I’ve read many books but I’m still a virgin. I’ve never seen a man ejaculate. I know how to do it though.” With this she took my foreskin in her gentle grasp and slid it back tightly, then drew it forward. I bit my lip so as not to gasp loudly with pleasure. “I’ve seen you looking at my breasts, I thought you might wish to fuck me. That’s the term isn’t it? I’m very ready you see and you are such a nice man.” She continued to tug, one hand moving quickly backwards and forwards, the other cupped below the end. “Its larger than I expected. Bigger than average I suspect. Much!” I nodded in agreement, aware that she now had nine inches of very stiff cock-flesh in her palm. I could feel the cum rising inside me and though I desperately wanted to give in to the desire to ejaculate, I did not want to waste the moments of sheer pleasure watching such a beautiful woman handle my cock. It had been nearly two months since I had enjoyed intimacy with a woman, when I had slept with the barmaid from the Rose and Crown in a haystack just outside the boundary fence of the institute. This far outweighed that experience. I could hold on no longer, with the next draw back of my foreskin I unleashed a torrent of semen, squirting and splashing in to Anne’s cupped palm. My rigid member pulsed in her hand causing her too giggle with excitement as it swelled and bulged in her firm grip. After the final pulse of pleasure Anne raised her hand to her mouth, smelled the precious fluid and dipped the tip of her tongue in to the little well she had formed. I watched as she lapped up a generous sample and ran it round her mouth with her tongue, almost as though she were sampling a fine wine. “Mmmmmm. It’s nice and salty. Waste not want not.” With that she slurped up the whole delivery, gulping it down with relish, licking the foaming white specks from her lips as though it were the Devon cream from a scone at high tea.
After landing we transferred to a small canoe and on to a village built along the shore where we were to wait for professor Whitely. During this three-day hiatus, waiting for our colleague’s arrival, two things happened. Firstly we spent nearly two whole days making love in a tiny hut, exploring every avenue open to a couple who had suddenly lost their stuffy inhibitions imposed upon them by a western morality that temporarily had no relevance. Secondly, on the third day we met Emanuel Garcia, headman of the village, in fact only man of the village.
After two days and nights of extended, intense and excessive intercourse we emerged in to the beautiful Amazonian daylight, every limb, every orifice aching with satisfaction. As we wandered around, observing the local customs and social behaviour we noticed the complete absence of indigenous men and the fact that every native woman around us was younger and as nubile as Anne herself. When questioned these dark skinned, exotic beauties, almost naked save for a scrap of hide hung about their labia, continuously referred us to the mysterious Emmanuel. Emmanuel was in his bungalow, a very colonial looking building on the jungles edge of the Northern boundary of the village.
